


the princess and her pet

by redlight



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Character Study, Devotion, Dom/sub Undertones, Experimental Style, F/M, Master/Pet, Power Dynamics, Service Submission, collar kink, i wrote this in 20 minutes bye, references to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-05 00:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17314643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlight/pseuds/redlight
Summary: They call him a lap dog.





	the princess and her pet

**Author's Note:**

> im too afraid to watch voltron season 8 and i dont know what fandom to move onto so hi here have some rough bullshit because i have a kink for "hero serving the princess" stories
> 
> tl:dr the most generic loz fanfic in the world bc otherwise i have to move to rick and morty fandom

They call him a lap dog.

A bitch, a mutt—rabid and roaring with his eyes wild and his teeth filled with dirt. They call him a _lap dog_ , princess’s pet proper, sitting at the heel of his Master, his Mistress, his Queen and Princess, his Blood-Love-and-Witness.

They know it's true, _he_ knows it’s true—the mute son of a bitch with his teeth sharpened down from the Princess's fingernails, all gentle and pink-painted and razored. _You use these teeth to serve, my champion_ , and so he serves.

 **(** He doesn't see when she's sweet. He doesn't acknowledge the shake in her shoulders, the fear in her eyes, the taste of her sweat when he kisses her hand. He's not supposed to know. No one must know.

So the Princess isn't sweet. She can't be.

Any incidence that points to the contrary _stays_ in the contrary. It's not like he's telling anyone. **)**

The Princess, see—her throne might not be so wholesome, but she clings to it so tight that she tugs her hangnails off, gets her skin caught in the nails of it all. Blood dripping from her want, from her need, she holds on, but.

 _But_.

But she's smart about it. Swallows the keys to the handcuffs that hold her wrists to her throne. Keeps them safe, dissolves them in queenly smiles and hydrochloric acid.

If you want what she keeps then you must snap each royal rib open and take it.

But _him_ —he is her lap dog. He follows her orders. He puts her ribs back together, and he makes sure no one tries to break her spine from behind where she can't look.

He is her rabid, tearing, _growling_ mutt if he must be. Chained to the collar post with his fangs caked in _blood-dirt-drool_ , with his claws aching for a fight, for _everything, everything,_ 'cause when she honors him with a blade to use on her enemies he will take the blessing and kiss her hand and feet (and not her cheek, never her cheek, never against the blossom of her skin or her model-red lips hiding her gruesome teeth, he does not touch, _dogs do not touch_.)

He is a pet. Trained and sharpened. He is a thing to be kept and used, and he _knows his place_.

He serves. He knows his place so well he’s etched it into his heart and his collar tags—both just as valuable when it comes to his being. He keeps his head down, and his blade at the ready.

His chains may clatter whenever a threat appears too close, he might shake and spit and shear, but he stays in place, held back by collar and grace.

But for as dressed a pet he is—medallions and clean clothes and honors and titles bestowed atop him like crown and credence, he is still—

Lesser. Still an _animal_ kept on key and lock and cage, and.

And he smiles and barks whenever his Princess calls for him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ~~if you know my other works know that im coming back with masochist link im so sorry~~


End file.
